


Promises, Promises

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: A very jizzjazz rewrite [5]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Dialogue, Dancing, Dark Malcolm Bright, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s01e05 The Trip, Established John Watkins/Malcolm Bright, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Mpreg, Gil Arroyo Acting as Malcolm Bright's Parental Figure, Gil Arroyo is Malcolm Bright's Parent, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder Husbands, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Reminiscing, Trust, mpreg mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: Malcolm gets an explosion of drugs to the face.John takes care of him.---A rewrite of "The Trip" for my established John/Malcolm series.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Paul Lazar | John Watkins
Series: A very jizzjazz rewrite [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897057
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	Promises, Promises

“You okay, Bright?”

He registers the question, but honestly? He doesn’t think much about it. There are other things on his mind, more pressing things. 

Things like the influence Gil has had on his life and how Malcolm has let the respect he has for him linger in the background for too long unsaid. 

Gil’s brow creases even more. He opens his mouth to say something else.

Malcolm beats him to it. “When my father was arrested, you helped to fill that void.” His voice is getting thick in his throat, his gaze blurry with the tears just thinking about this conjures. “You showed me what a good man looks like.” 

“Bright—” Gil’s voice dies down as Malcolm’s hand cradles his face. 

“You showed me what a good man _is_.” And Gil did. Maybe Malcolm hasn’t quite followed his example, and maybe Gil would be horrified to know what kind of person he really is, but the fact still stands. The man in front of him helped shape him into the kind of person he is. He’s part of the reason Malcolm doesn’t kill just anyone, why he has a code. 

“He’s high as a kite,” Gil says, turning his face to Dani but not dislodging the hand there. 

“I’m higher than a kite,” Malcolm agrees with a grin. It slips. He shifts his hand to pat Gil’s shoulder before scrubbing at the tears that have escaped the corners of his eyes. “You’re going to be the best grandpa my kids could ask for.” 

Whatever frustration was brewing on Gil’s face as he got the story from Dani softens. He orders her to go home, brushing off her concerns about Malcolm. He hauls Malcolm aside then, out of the way of the other officers, and pulls out his phone, dialling up a familiar number. “John.” He nods absently. “He’s mostly fine. Shots were fired, and a bag of drugs exploded in his face. Uh-huh. I can’t leave the scene, could you — Great. I’ll keep an eye on him until then.”

“John’s coming?” The drugs are still strong in his system, nowhere near having run their course, but the harsh realization hits him anyway. His husband, a sweet, sweet man who has a complicated history with drugs, is going to have to take care of him while he’s doped up. It’s not a bad thing, really. John knows him well enough to know this wasn’t by choice. 

It still stings. Still worries him.

Gil turns to him, rests his hand on the back of his neck in a comforting fashion. “Kid, I don’t like asking while you’re drugged, but what you said back there, about kids…”

“I want to be a parent,” Malcolm says abruptly, happily, because he _does_. God, does he. “I think, with John, I can be more like _you_ and less like my father.”

“So, you’re not pregnant now.” There’s relief in the finality of his words. Relief that tonight might not have harsher consequences than first anticipated. Relief that Malcolm will be okay.

Malcolm grins and shakes his head. “Not yet. We might try —”

“Nope,” Gil blurts out, putting his hand over Malcolm’s mouth. “ _That_ I don’t want to hear, kid, and I don’t think you’d be so happy to tell me once the drugs wear off.”

Thankfully, John pulls up shortly after. He’s quiet. Concerned. He talks to Gil alone for a moment after securing Malcolm in the passenger seat of his pickup. He wraps an arm around his husband once he joins him, Malcolm leaning against him over the center console, and drives home in relative silence, the only sound around them the traffic and the soft twang of music coming from the radio. 

The silence follows them up the stairs to the loft. 

“Do you want a bath?” John says quietly, still holding him. 

Malcolm shakes his head. “Not yet.” He wants to be more aware, more himself when John washes him clean. His lips curve up, and he pulls out of John’s arms to face him. “What I _want_ to do is throw axes. We don’t even have to leave — we have plenty here!”

His husband reaches out and grasps both of his hands. He soothes the back of them with calloused thumbs. “I’ll get you through this, little Malcolm. I promise.”

“I know you will.” He does. He trusts him. Loves him. Malcolm laughs as he pulls away, skipping over to the wall of weapons they both adore so much. He ignores the soft tread of John’s work boots against the floor behind him. He unlocks the nearest case with practiced movements. His favorite throwing axe is in this one. The handle is smooth, familiar in his grip. He hums as he flips it. 

It soars through the air, missing John by less than a foot, his husband ducking fast to avoid the blade. The tip of it lodges into the floor. 

John sighs. “Malcolm…”

Malcolm picks up a second. “Yes, dear?”

John has to duck again. He manages to wrap his fingers around pale wrists, tugging Malcolm away from the weapons case, twisting him and sliding his grip until they’re moving together, until they’re dancing. His steps aren’t perfect or anywhere near it. 

Malcolm adjusts. He always has, always found a way to meet John halfway, to compromise and find a rhythm all of their own. Shifting forward, he meets his lips as they dance, too. His beard tickles Malcolm’s face the way it always does. It’s softer, less wild than it looks. “Do you remember our wedding?”

“Of course I do.” John dips him before he can squirm away. 

“I asked you to shave.” Begged him, actually. Not because he wanted him clean shaven, actually, but rather because Malcolm knew his mother wasn’t big on John’s facial hair, and the reception was really just for her benefit. Even Matilda would have insisted on a tamed beard for the wedding, if she’d had any say. Basically, John needed to be presentable for their big day if they wanted to head off the comments before they started.

(They had, briefly, discussed going to a courthouse just the two of them to get it done. Fuck what anyone else thought. Malcolm didn’t need John to dress up for him. John didn’t expect Malcolm to bend to his grandmother’s will. A private show of their commitment to each other in front of a priest would have done.

Neither of them could do that to their families.)

John makes a face at the memory, but he doesn’t really mean it. Of course, the both of them missed his beard in the time it took to regrow. The memories, however, were so much more important. 

The two of them went for a small, traditional wedding. Matilda beamed at her grandson from the pews as he’d stood there, freshly shaved and wearing a sharp tuxedo. She barely spared a glance for Malcolm as he walked down the aisle in his matching tux, but neither of them expected her to. The seats around her were empty. Malcolm hadn’t invited anyone. John hadn’t either, except for his grandmother. 

It was perfect. They stared at each other as the priest walked them through the ceremony. They exchanged rings and kissed and relished in the idea that they were finally bound in the eyes of the law and the Lord. 

The reception was bigger. Old family friends were there, even if they only attended out of curiosity. Ainsley and his mother were there in gorgeous dresses. They welcomed the two of them in with tears and some of the best catering in the city. Malcolm and John danced there, Malcolm guiding him through what they’d practiced together, though perfection hardly mattered when they were so in love.

It wasn’t the first step they’d taken together. It was just one of the more memorable ones. 

“We could renew our vows,” John says gruffly, the emotion of it all getting to him. 

Malcolm kisses him again. This time, it’s less casual and more desperate. “I really hope I’m pregnant.” His voice cracks. “John, I —”

“I know.” John pulls him into a hug, stopping the dance all together. 

“I’m also hungry,” Malcolm admits with a bit of tearful humor on his face. “Can we make grilled cheese?”

John hums. “ _I’ll_ make grilled cheese. You good to get into bed?”

Malcolm nods. He lets John strap him in. Lets him coax him into drinking half a bottle of water. Watches him carefully prepare grilled cheese the way Malcolm likes it. 

John feeds it to him, too, soothing him as he comes down from his sudden high. “Promise me,” he says after the plate is in the dishwasher. “Promise me you won’t fall down that path.”

“I promise I won’t,” Malcolm agrees without hesitation. The drugs are still in his system and will be for some time yet, but this is easy. 

And they settle in for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no idea how I went so long without updating this. The last few months have been nuts in my personal life, and my writing has fallen off in a lot of ways because of everything, so I can't make any promises about when I can update this series again. I can say, I love writing it, and there are so many things to come that I am so excited to get to!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy the latest piece!


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